Before I could answer, Marcus stepped in, sliding a hand around my waist, his fingers digging into my hip with a hidden, threatening pressure. “Oh, Mother, don’t mind Clara.

She had a little tumble on the porch last night — clumsy girl wasn’t watching her step. But she pulled herself together to make my night perfect. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

I looked straight into his eyes, the pain in my arm flaring from his grip. I didn’t flinch, and I didn’t look away.

“I did exactly what you deserved, Marcus,” I said, sweet as honey, the edge underneath sliding right past the crowd. “Every detail of tonight was designed with you in mind.”

“That’s my girl.” He chuckled, missing it entirely, and turned back to his boss. “Come, let’s sit. The chef says the first course is ready.”

Dinner was a masterclass in luxury. Twenty executives and family members took their seats along the mahogany table. The white-truffle risotto drew murmurs of awe.